


Before Winter Comes

by Talullah



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5077219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two brothers talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Winter Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Empy (Empyreus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/gifts).



> Written for Empy, for the [The Tenth Annual Sons of Gondor Trick or Treat Fic/Art Exchange](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Sons_of_Gondor_Trick_or_Treat_Exchange_2015).
> 
> Many thanks to Heart of Oshun for the beta.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Gondor, 3007 TA**

“There you are.” Boromir said, bursting into the library. “Hiding from father?” he teased, as he approached Faramir and sat by his side on the settee.

Faramir closed the book and looked at his brother. “Not quite.”

The brothers smiled in mutual understanding.

“What are you reading?” Boromir asked as he glanced outside. The city sprawled down the hill, greyer than white in the weak autumn light which failed to bounce off the stone and bring it to its usual splendour. The greyish light would worsen over the next couple of months. The summer had been cool and the early autumn promised a harsh winter. Snow was pretty only in books about the north. Here, in the south, it turned into slush as soon as it hit the ground, transformed the city into a slippery, miserable, dirty place. Fortunately, he would be out by the time that happened, away in Ithilien, which would not be better, but would keep him busy.

“The family annals,” Faramir replied, after a moment.

“Again?”

“Yes, again. Sometimes I wish I could annotate them. Mithrandir tells the most extraordinary tales.”

“Father would agree with you, there,” Boromir teased.

Faramir chuckled. “Hardly. But I would love to ride north some day with him and visit Rivendell. Perhaps the lord of the valley would tell me first-hand stories about our ancestors, maybe even of Elros Tar-Minyatur and of Númenor. Mithrandir says he once visited the lost island of the west.”

“You live in dreams, brother,” Boromir said with a smile dancing on his lips, even as he shook his head. “But I think you should start your own annotation of all those stories.”

“Maybe someday I will.”

“You should now. At least you would have a decent excuse to stuff yourself in here at every free moment.”

“It is a pity that Father thought you should supervise Ithilien this winter,” Faramir sighed.

“Do not take it personally.” Boromir searched his brother’s eyes. “Rotation has always been the rule. No captain is exempt from it, not even myself.”

“Oh, I know that all too well,” Faramir said, waving his hand as if shooing the thought.

“What is it, then?” Boromir asked.

Faramir only sighed in response.

“Beregond?” Boromir risked.

Faramir nodded.

“I thought we had an unspoken agreement and you were always going to pretend you did not know about that,” Faramir said, trying to joke.

“What did he do?” Boromir asked, ignoring Faramir’s comment.

“He did not do a thing. His father found him a bride. If I were a good person, I would be encouraging him to take her hand…”

Boromir ran his nails over his stubble, waiting for a moment before replying. “What are you planning? Nothing stupid, I hope.”

“Not eloping, if that is your concern. I would not shame our families.”

“Then what do you plan to do?”

“I do not know. I know what the right thing is… but sometimes I get tired of doing the right thing.”

“You do not sound like yourself,” Boromir said. “Would you have him marry the girl and still see you in the cover of the night? Or would you keep both of you in this situation indeterminately, until it collapsed upon itself and both of you were publicly disgraced?”

“I know that what you say is right.” Faramir looked at his brother. “I will do the right thing. I promise. This seems to be moving too fast, though, and I feel lost.”

Boromir reached out and squeezed Faramir’s arm. “Let him go. Even if he wants a life in the shadows, would you want that for either of you? To be the secret that everyone knows? Father breathing on your neck, possibly assigning him to Osgiliath or worse? His own family disowning him? You are no child, you know what goes on in the barracks in the still of the night is a totally different matter than what the two of you have entangled yourselves. A romp in the night to satisfy a need is overlooked, even joked about. This thing you want is folly. Even if he was a woman, Father would never have it. You are the son of the Steward.”

“Boromir, I know all that. Spare me the lecture.”

“Then just do it. Abandon this situation before you get burned.”

“It’s easy for you to say, brother. Your heart is closed.”

Boromir looked away. “My heart holds someone dear. But it is a much more tremendous infraction than yours so I will let it rest.

“I know. You have hinted as much before, although I cannot fathom what would be such a serious offence. Would that you confided in me.”

Boromir shook his head. “The less said, the better. After a while, and this is a lesson you would do well to heed also, one feels the same tenderness, but the pain of loss diminishes. The feeling becomes like a childhood memory – something that you cherish but accept as out of reach.”

“So… let it go, brother,” Faramir said. “If that is all you feel now for that mysterious person, let that dream die and find someone new to love. Can I have nephews and nieces?”

“But I am not lonely.” Boromir said. “I am happy, I do what I like, I have the best of brothers, friends, comfort, purpose. What more could one want?”

“Love.”

“Overrated.”

Faramir chuckled. “So you keep telling me. Is it someone I know?”

“Oh, stop trying, I am not telling. Anyway, back to Beregond. Let him go while it remains your choice. Talk to him, help him accept that choice as well. You brute brother knows a thing or two about the nature of a man’s heart. Much bitterness will come if both of you insist on something that has no future.”

Faramir inhaled deeply. “Brother, I know you speak wisely. But...”

Boromir held his hands up in fake desperation. “I knew the ‘but’ was there. You are always so full of ‘buts’ and ‘whys’.

Faramir smiled. “I was just going to say that, one, I am not the heir to the stewardship, so I have no reproductive duties – that is your job, and two – remember Cemendur?”

Boromir rolled his eyes. “How could I forget him? How many times have you brought that illustrious example of our familial deviance to light in our conversations? I lose count.”

“Cemendur left no children and was succeeded by his nephew,” Faramir insisted. “And his friendship with his seneschal ran so deep that the man got himself killed within a month of Cemendur’s passing and – note this – was interred in the same tomb, side by side, by provisions of Cemendur’s will.”

“Faramir,” Boromir tersely said. “Did you not listen to a word of what I said?”

“I know.”

“Cemendur was a king and he had a good number of nephews. You are a steward’s son and you have reproductive obligations, as you call it, too.”

“I know.”

“I know you do.” Boromir sat back and looked at the intricate pattern engraved on the ceiling boards.

“You should go to Dol-Amroth for the winter.”

“Crickey,” Faramir exclaimed. “And listen every night to Uncle Imrahil go on and on about how we are fortunate that elven blood was injected in our line through his, and so on and so forth.”

Boromir laughed. “Well, there’s that. And a stormy winter by the sea is not the best holiday. But it is better than staying here and let things simmer, or worse, staying here and watch him marry somebody else. Time and distance do wonders…”

“A few months and a few miles are hardly enough, I fear.”

“Faramir, you are being stubborn.”

“Father will not appreciate your idea.”

“Let me handle that. Your part is to talk with Beregond and do what has to be done.”

Faramir bit his lip and stared at the closed book in his hands. “Now would be a good time for that visit to Imladris,” he said.

Boromir snorted. “Do not push your luck, little brother. Hey, Elphir mentioned that he and Erchirion might go south on some adventure.”

“You know I get seasick,” Faramir said with distaste. He rose and held his hand out for Boromir. “Let us go down for dinner.”

“Will you go?” Boromir asked, as they reached the door.

Faramir placed his hand on the knob. “I will go. I know that you are right in everything you said. But it still pierces my heart.”

Boromir patted his back. “I am so happy that I am not the sentimental brother,” he quipped.

Faramir punched him in the arm and followed him out into the darkened hallway.

* * *

**Coda**

**Gondor, 3019 TA**

Faramir’s eyes were close but he did not sleep. It was easy to slide into a half-dreamt world here, at the Houses of Healing. It was also tempting to stay there, were it not for the woman and the perianth.

A weight pressed his matress down. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for the healer to place a hand on his forehead for temperature.

“My condolences,” he heard instead. He had not heard that voice in a long while.

“Beregond?” Reluctantly, he cracked one eye open. At the sight of his former lover, he sat up.

Beregond took his hand in his own. “I could not reach you when your brother passed. I know he meant the world to you. And now your father. I am sorry.”

Faramir elbowed himself up on the bed. “Thank you. I am glad you came.”

“Are you healing well?” Beregond asked with a sad smile.

“Fairly. King Elessar is… all that we could hope for. And it is peaceful in here.”

“There is a light in your eyes…” Beregond observed.

Faramir smiled too. “I doubt anyone could let sadness linger now that there is renewed hope.”

“King Elessar… is hope the only reason for your elation?”

“It is.” Faramir almost grinned. “Are you jealous?”

Beregond chortled. “None of us has the right to that, after all these years.”

“Are you happy?”

“I am,” Beregond said. “I hated you and your brother and everyone for a while. I thought that he had made up your mind… But then Bergil was born and I had no room left for hate. And Borlas was a child of love. I do love her now, the mother of my beautiful children.”

“I am happy for you, truly. But Boromir was not to blame, you know,” Faramir said.

“I know. We have talked about this. In the end, he was right. And the past is in the past.” Beregond rose from the bed.

“Do not go yet,” Faramir asked.

“Alright.” Beregond sat down again. “So that light…”

“Someone I met here but not Elessar.” Faramir smiled. “It has been a long while since I felt that way. She is quite special.”

Beregond smiled. “Good. You deserve it.”

Faramir smiled too. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Beregond looked at his hands. “I should be going. My boys will be waiting for a bedtime story.”

Faramir held Beregond’s hand as he rose from the bed. “Thank you for coming. Do visit sometime.”

“I will. I want to meet her.”

Faramir beamed. “You will.”

_Finis  
October 2015_


End file.
